


Traumatic Medical Jargon, Discussed

by Arwyn



Category: due South
Genre: Blow Jobs, Embarrassment, Happy Ending, Humor, M/M, Medical
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-01-29
Updated: 2016-01-29
Packaged: 2018-05-16 23:58:02
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 741
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5845951
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Arwyn/pseuds/Arwyn
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>
  <em>Fraser unfolded the paper -- the patient record, visit summary and recommendations, as he’d suspected -- and read it.</em>
</p>
<p>
<em>And read it again.</em>
</p><p>
<em>“Oh. Oh dear.”</em></p>
            </blockquote>





	Traumatic Medical Jargon, Discussed

**Author's Note:**

> An astute reader might discern the topic of this work from the acronym formed by its title.
> 
> A discerning reader might click away now.
> 
> The author is not sorry.

"We have to leave Chicago."

Fraser turned off the iron and put it down safely before turning to face his partner -- but Ray, in full whirlwind mode, had already rushed past him into their bedroom. Fraser went to stand in the door and watched, his concern rising, as Ray pulled out a matching set of luggage, unzipping one to find another inside, until three near identical suitcases lay empty on their bed. They’d barely stopped bouncing before Ray was tossing clothes in, seemingly at random.

Since Ray had simply been at a doctor’s appointment, and not, as it might appear, some high-risk meet with an informant or, well, anyone who might place one or both of them in sufficient danger to warrant his actions, Fraser calmed his initial urge (and urgency) to assist.

“Is there… a particular reason for this?”

Ray threw an armful of suits, slacks, and Fraser’s spare uniform, hangers and all, into the nearest suitcase. Or on it, rather, and Fraser’s eye followed as one particularly slippery pair of trousers slid most of the way off the bed, only to catch on his own suit hanger’s hook and hang, suspended, seemingly in the act of getting out of bed.

“Is there a reason?!” Fraser blinked away the image of the last time Ray had worn those trousers, long legs splayed and half off the bed, and focused on the equally fascinating visage of Ray in full outrage. “Hell yes there’s a reason, Fraser.”

Ray swept the top of the dresser into the largest suitcase -- entirely impractically, as it mostly consisted of small, dense objects that clearly should be concentrated into the smallest of the bags.

“Are you going to share the reason with me at any point?”

“Wasn’t planning on it, nope.”

“Ah.”

Ray’s briefs landed atop his CPD uniform, candy stripe red and white popping out in contrast with the staid, nay boring blue of the uniform.

“I -- Ray, I really am going to have to insist on having _some_ explanation for this sudden upheaval.”

Ray groaned and pulled a sheet of paper, roughly folded, from his back pocket, thrusting it at Fraser without meeting his eyes. He stared for a moment at the mess he’d created, before shoving one of the cases off the far side of the bed and sitting down, burying his head in his hands.

Fraser carefully sat down next to him.

“Did the visit with Dr Rosenblatt not go well? Is there…” He cleared his throat, mind flashing through the possibilities, from the bad ( _discovery of undercover status by inimical persons_ ) to the worst ( _illness, death, Ray’s sweet vibrancy fading away_ ). “Is there something wrong?”

“ _Is there something_ \-- just read it, Fraser.”

Fraser unfolded the paper -- the patient record, visit summary and recommendations, as he’d suspected -- and read it.

And read it again.

“Oh. Oh dear.”

Ray snorted.

Fraser shifted on the bed, opened his mouth -- and shut it again. Ray flopped backward, immediately shifting to remove a belt buckle from behind his back, and covered his face with the crook of his elbow.

“Yeah.”

“So the headaches--”

“Yyyup.”

“And the clicking--”

“Uh huh.”

“And the recommendation is--”

“‘Total abstention from recreational activities involving wide opening of the jaw,’” Ray quoted.

Fraser’s eyes flickered over the rest of the sentence. ‘For a minimum of six weeks.’

Oh _dear_.

Ray was muttering quietly. Fraser caught a few phrases, including “never show my face again”, “what’s a little clicking” and “can’t make me”.

“Well,” Fraser re-folded the paper and placed it in his own pocket. He placed his hand on Ray’s knee (noticing with gratification how Ray immediate stopped muttering, his breath caught high in his chest). He slid his hand up the inside seam as he leaned down, resting his elbow on the bed next to Ray. “Inuvik is lovely this time of year.” Ray was breathing faster now; Fraser plucked open the top button of Ray’s jeans. “But there may be alternate solutions worth exploring.”

“Yeah?” Ray’s voice cracked.

Fraser breathed deeply, his face over the soft, worn cotton of Ray’s briefs. “Oh yes. It’s hardly a hardship.”

“I guess. If you insi-i-i-i-iiiiiioooohhh _Christ_!”

Six weeks? Well. Fraser had survived worse, after all.

He set to work making the time pass.

 

***

 

EPILOGUE

 

They moved the next spring. 

Inuvik was blessed with a dentist of its very own, a rare and privileged commodity up north.

Ray flew to Edmonton twice a year instead.

**Author's Note:**

> Definitely not (loosely) inspired by real life events.


End file.
